


La Famiglia

by athletiger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athletiger/pseuds/athletiger
Summary: The Stark Family is one of the largest and strongest crime syndicates on American soil, infamously known for their ruthlessness and their tight-knit community. Government files report that they produce black-market weapons and do human trafficking. Because of their threat to the American people, FBI's top priority is to find them and pin each and every one of their members for their crimes; success of this mission would mean another win for the American people, just as good of a win as the arrest of Al Capone.However, for FBI Special Agent Steve Rogers, it's more personal. Infiltrating the family would mean avenging Bucky's death, who died in the line of fire as an undercover agent. And Steve plans on finishing what Bucky started.Famiglia per sempre.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm excited to post new fic, and I hope I manage to finish this! I'm two months late for Stuckony's Discord Mob month, but it's coming (it really is, I swear...if school doesn't kill me first).

“Rogers, perimeter’s secured and everyone’s in position.”

Special Agent Steve Rogers hummed in acknowledgement. He looked out at the scene before him through the view of the binoculars, scanning the airfield from his vantage point of the nearby hill. So far, there was no movement in the port below, and Steve lowered his binoculars for a moment. He tapped his comms. “And Agent Barton? What’s your status?” he asked.

“Locked and loaded,” came the confirmation. When Steve heard his voice, he allowed himself a small smile. Steve was glad that Clint was assigned for this mission because, behind Bucky, Agent Barton would be his go-to long-distance backup. Clint and Bucky often had sniper competitions to snatch the “best sniper” title from the other; no one else came close to their caliber, although many have tried. 

And Bucky was down there somewhere, asking for an extraction upon the success of his latest undercover gig, the second best undercover operative behind Steve.

“Alright. Hang tight everybody. It would be a win if we can get the Starks red-handed.”

Moments later, a convoy of black vans streamed past the gates and onto the field. Steve hurriedly grabbed for his binoculars again and lifted them up, watching the stream of black cars stop at the center of the airfield. As soon as the cars jolted to a halt, people with battle-hardened faces streamed out. Through his binoculars, Steve scanned the view below, pausing only minutely to identify faces.

And there were a lot of high-profile people; this sting, if it were successful, would go down in American history as one of the largest crime syndicates taken down by the FBI, and Steve was leading this. The risk was high, but the reward was even higher, especially because Special Agent Barnes had been tasked to go undercover for the past two years.

Not being able to see Bucky during these past two years took its toll on Steve, both as his superior and his best friend. Steve had only been able to get in touch with Bucky merely a handful of times, and his designated checkpoints were often missed because he was in too deep. It was all worth it, in the end, because Bucky had weaved into the higher ranks of the family, and the intel he managed to procure during that time was enough to cripple the organization, perhaps permanently.

And if intel was correct, the FBI would not only manage to bring down the Stark name, but they would also take down HYDRA. Again.

Steve spotted Obadiah Stane first, his bald, full-mustached mug being graced on the FBI Most Wanted List wall beside Steve’s office. The blurry image on the wall did nothing to deter the distinctively hardened look on his face. “Stane’s here,” Steve muttered in the comms.

Clint whistled. “The big boss? It really must be Christmas!”

Steve cut in before Clint could go on a roll. “Focus Barton.”

The familiar brown-haired figure was two steps behind and one step to the left of Stane. Bucky’s face was mostly turned away from Steve’s vantage point on the hill and obscured by his long hair, but the glimpses he was able to get revealed tense jaws and cold eyes. Steve shivered at the sight.

It’s a good thing that the mission is almost over, and Bucky will be back in Steve’s arms soon enough.

“Showtime,” Steve muttered under his breath. He placed the binoculars back on his belt and slid his arm through the gun sling, a heavyweight in his hands and promising bloodshed for the land of the free. Steve crouched from his position and made his way down the hill, often stopping to hide behind rocks and bushes and checking that his position hadn’t been given away.

The fence around the airstrip was milling with four armed guards in the immediate vicinity watching the perimeter, alert, aware. Steve waited behind a large rock, watching as the guards did their rounds.

“I need a distraction,” Steve said quietly. “Get a guard away from the perimeter.”

One of the technicians confirmed. “I’m on it. Twenty seconds from now for a ten second distraction. The guard fifty yards to the right has his phone on him, so that’s where you’ll break through.”

“Roger that.”

Moments later, one of the guards dropped his gaze, a hand flying to his pocket. He fished around and pulled a small black phone. “Hello?” he asked as he stepped away from his post for just a few seconds, his voice fading slightly, and the short distraction was enough for Steve to slip past the perimeter. Steve ran, shoes scuffing the dirt, and then he crouched through a broken link in the fence.

“Convenient,” Clint remarked dryly.

Steve huffed and suppressed the laugh that threatened to bubble out and ruin the whole mission, and he ducked behind one of the hangars just as the guard reappeared to take his posting. He froze, breath and all, making sure his run hasn’t been caught by any of the other guards. When no alarm sounded, he relaxed enough slightly to reply, “it got me through, didn’t it? Less hassle and less bang.”

“Bang’s still a lot more fun.”

“And you’ll get your turn. Just let me get into position to take Agent Barnes.”

“And less chatter on the comms, agents,” FBI Director Fury interjected. “Agent Barton, don’t forget that you broke your last sniper rifle and the one you’re using is on loan. Don’t break this one too.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint sounded more petulant than remorseful, and Steve rolled his eyes at the antics of his agent, grinning because no one could see him. Clint  _ had _ broken his last rifle for a good cause: it was in self-defense when he was attacked in short range by their last suspect. He came out of that scuffle fine; the other guy was slightly less fine, but he’s alive and in federal prison at the moment for assaulting a federal officer. He slid his head just a fraction to scope the field, taking in the details of the other guards creating a tight circle around Obadiah Stane, Bucky, and a third person on the right, a step behind Stane as well. Steve frowned when he couldn’t immediately determine the identity of the third person.

“I need to verify an identity,” Steve said. He snapped the image and sent it to IT.

“Image received,” the technician said. The comms went silent for a long moment before the technician returned with, “I can’t confirm his identity.”

“What do you mean you can’t confirm his identity?” Director Fury said.

“Sir, his profile is nowhere on the FBI database.”

Steve bristled slightly when the technician said that. “He’s behind Stane, for heaven’s sake. It means he’s clearly high profile. How can we not have a file on him?”

The technician stammered, his response incoherent as he tried to come up with a response. Director Fury said, voice laced with acid, “English, Mister Jones.”

“Sir,” another voice interjected, one more smooth and familiar. Agent Hill said, “He could possibly be the famed ‘Iron Man.’ We don’t have anything on him because he’s essentially a ghost. We don’t know who he is or where he came from, but we do know that his technological capabilities far surpass the techs we have here.”

“Don’t give me speculation, agents,” Director Fury growled. “Give me cold, hard facts. Agent Rogers, has Agent Barnes given you any information on ‘Iron Man’ during any of your rendezvous?”

“No sir. Agent Barnes never mentioned any aliases by that name.”

“Then consider him as an unknown threat. For someone in such a high position, and no one knows of his identity is dangerous.”

Murmurs of “yes, sir” filled the comms, and at that moment, the air began to rumble, the sound growing louder and louder.

“We have incoming. Unmarked jet at your nine, Rogers,” Clint said, his voice serious now.

“HYDRA?” Steve asked, backing away from his original position. He slid into the crevice between the wall and the closed hangar door, ducking so that his position was less noticeable.

“Too far away to tell yet,” Clint replied. “Also Rogers, you have company. A guard’s coming around at your six, about fifteen meters…”

Steve looked beside him. No immediate escape point. Hangar doors shut.

“Ten…”

“Take him quietly, Agent Rogers,” Director Fury warned. If there wasn’t a present danger, Steve would have scoffed at the statement.

“Five…” Clint said.

Steve braced himself, shifting his weight to his feet.

“Four, three, two…”

His muscles tensed, preparing himself to…

“One.”

Steve exploded from behind the wall, not giving the guard a chance to even react before he threw his arm around his neck and dragging him backwards, putting him in a sleeper hold. The guard struggled, nearly throwing Steve off his feet, but Steve tightened his hold, grunting softly. It seemed like a million years, but it was really merely seconds when the guard finally stopped his struggles and relaxed into Steve’s arm.

“I’m usually quiet,” Steve remarked belatedly, ignoring the non-subtle coughs in his earpiece. After picking the locked door, he dragged the guard into the hanger, leaving him slumped against the wall.

“The day I see you subtle will be the day I’m adopting a tiger for a pet,” Clint said. “Also, I can confirm that HYDRA is exiting the plane now. I have the visual on them.”

“And audio?” Director Fury asked.

“We couldn’t sneak a wire to Bucky. It would have been too risky for him to wear it,” Steve said.

Clint further reported, “Someone is using a scrambler over there, so the long distance mic isn’t working either. And Stane’s people is blocking the view; I can’t get a good read on them.”

“So we’re going in half-blind people. As soon as they move and exchange the goods, we move to arrest them, Bucky included. We can’t let his cover be blown so soon.”

Steve slowly trawled forward again, his gun prepped at his chest and ready to fire. He could almost taste the tense anticipation in the air, one of victory and gunpowder.

“Hold tight everyone,” Director Fury commanded. “We don’t want to spook them.”

Steve pressed up against the wall, breathing deeply and forcing his rapidly beating heart to calm down. He looked out, past the gate, imagining the rest of the SWAT team out there, hidden behind crevices and raring to arrest the crew.

“Something’s wrong.” Clint’s voice broke through the haze of adrenaline coursing in his mind. “Their body posture is off.”

Steve shivered, gripping his gun tightly.

“Sir, we need to move…” Clint began to say, when a single crack rang in the air. The sound of a gunshot, and the noise sent shivers down Steve’s spine. “Shots fired! Shots fired!”

“Go, go, go!” Director Fury yelled in his ear, and for a millisecond, Steve was struck dumb, rooted to the ground. Precious time passed by before Steve’s brain rebooted to real time. He pushed off against the wall, gun lifted in front of him. Instinct took over as he shot round after round behind the cover of the wall, fighting for dear life against the guards shooting back at him. Ashes of plaster and wall sprayed the air from the force of the bullets, and Steve fought back hard, leaning the wall for protection.

“Backup!” Steve shouted. “I’m being pinned!”

“Twenty meters, Rogers.” Coulson reported. ‘We’re on our way.”

Steve’s vision narrowed as bullets flew from all sides; both friend and foe attacked hard.

“Shit! The plane’s leaving!” Clint yelled.

Steve cursed, releasing the empty magazine and slamming a new one in. “Don’t let the plane leave the tarmac!”

However, no one was able to stop the plane from picking up speed, seemingly impervious to all the bullets aimed at the moving target. It lifted, fleeing from the area. And so, at the end of the shootout, when the air stilled again, the plane was long gone, the enemies were all dead or severely injured, and Steve stumbled heavily out into the open, his gun dropping to his side limply. Sweat poured down his forehead as he looked at the blood-spattered scene: the higher echelons of HYDRA and the Stark Famiglia were no longer there.

And Bucky? Not among the dead or injured.

“The mission’s a fail,” Steve reported grimly. His heart dropped to the ground.

Because with the fact that Bucky was not there, Steve had essentially signed his death warrant. It took all of Steve’s strength to continue standing after that revelation passed his mind.

* * *

 

Nighttime found Steve in the gym in front of a red punching bag, chains hanging on both ends to keep the bag from swinging. The skin on his knuckles were split and blood poured out of the wounds continually. Yet, Steve continued to beat the bag bare-knuckled, savoring the physical pain in order to ignore the mental one. Steve gasped hard, not stopping in his rhythmic cadence even when another person approached from behind.

“It’s not your fault,” Clint said quietly.

Steve didn’t deign that with an answer, punching the bag unrelentingly until a well-placed strike sent his fist through the cloth into the sandbag. He breathed hard as the sand poured out around his fist onto the floor.

“I should have gone in,” Steve replied finally. “Then Bucky would have been safe.”

“No one knew that it would be HYDRA that would touch base with the Starks. If you’d gone in, it would have taken too long to get through the ranks and you know that. Bucky knew the risks, Steve. We all do when we get assigned our mission. It was an unfortunate coincidence that HYDRA was the one on the other side that recognized him. It could have been you with HYDRA or another organization. Hell, it could have been me. We never know when we pick up our job.”

Steve hated it that Clint was right. Steve kicked the broken bag in anger, sending sand flying everywhere. He felt empty, unwhole.

Clint said quietly, “Let me see your hand, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. He kept his hand by his side, blood dripping from his broken knuckles onto the floor and mixing with the sand. Clint’s voice only hardened. “Let me see your hand, or you can go to Medical to get your hands fixed up.”

“Fine,” Steve growled after a beat, shoving his hands in Clint’s direction roughly.

Clint was gentle as he sanitized the cuts and bruises before he wrapped it in gauze. “Don’t get another bag,” he threatened, tying the gauze into a knot.

Steve glared; Clint stared back unfazed. “Besides, Director Fury wants to see you. I’ll take care of this mess.”

Fury wanted to see him. Most likely to tell him that he was taking forced leave.

Steve was right, and he wasn’t at all happy about it. “I don’t need it sir,” Steve argued. “I’d do better if I stay here to continue working.”

The director gave him a flat look. “Son, you just lost your best friend in a mission. I know that it’s hard and you think it’s easier to stay here and bury yourself in work. But your head won’t be in the game, and I need all my agents, when they go out into the field, to be at their best. Take a break or I’ll take your badge until medical clears you from leave.”

Steve could still feel himself vibrating with subtle anger. But in this office, Director Fury’s word was law. And even though he didn’t want to admit it, it was reasonable. “Yes sir,” he finally gritted out.

Just as he turned to leave, Fury’s voice calls him back. “I need your gun Agent.” Steve stilled, one hand on the handle and the other on the holster. Steve turned, reluctantly drawing out his service weapon and placing it into the expectant hand of his director. “Also, I don’t want you doing anything stupid while you’re on leave. Sit tight at home and stay there.”

The trip down to his desk was filled with pain and guilt. And another feeling. Melancholy, perhaps. As he turned the corner, he saw Clint sitting at the edge of his desk. “I’m on leave,” Steve reported succinctly once he reached earshot. Clint nodded, unsurprised.

“I expected as much. Did he take your gun to stop you from going after the Starks?”

Steve nodded, but something in his eyes must have revealed his true feelings because Clint said additionally, “And you’re going after them.” It wasn’t a question; it was a fact. They both knew it because when it came down to team and family, they would do anything for each other.

“Bucky’s not among the dead, Clint, which means that there is still a chance that he’s still alive,” Steve said lowly. “Besides, even if he was dead, we would still need to bring the Starks down.”

Clint hissed, “But you’re going to be doing this outside of FBI jurisdiction! That means that you have no safety net. If you get caught doing a mission that is unapproved, Fury can take your badge!”

“Fury can have my gun and badge all he wants, Clint. As long as Bucky is still out there, I’m going to try to save him. Don’t try to stop me,” Steve said. “You know as well as I do that we would do anything for each other, mission approval be damned.”

“Then let me go with you. Two is better than one. You’re too close to this mission, and it’s going to impair your judgement.”

Steve shook his head, holding his hand to Clint’s chest when it looked like he was going to protest. “No. I can’t drag you in this.”

“You said it yourself: we’re family,” Clint retorted.

Steve smiled grimly. “We are, but you know that if you come with me, we’re going to be operating outside of the law. You have Phil, and I can’t risk your career and relationship for this. Stay with him.”

Steve walked around Clint to pick up his bag. “Look, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I don’t even know if I’ll make it back alive. But no matter what, I’m gonna follow Bucky till the end of the line.”

He looked at the badge in his hand, smiling sadly. He was proud of that badge; he was proud of serving his country. But there was something more important for him now, one that required him to place the badge back on his desk.

“Put your best foot forward, Agent Barton,” Steve said, clapping him on the back. “You’re the boss now. Take care of the agents in my place.”

“Will do,” Clint said, looking at Steve sincerely. “Don’t die out there, Cap.”

“I’ll try not to.”

As he waited for the elevator to arrive, he looked back at his agent one last time, sitting there with Steve’s badge in his hands; the other agents on his team had been temporarily reassigned during the duration of the last mission, and they wouldn’t know that Steve had quit until they come back from the cold case room. 

The elevator dinged.

And Steve sighed when he saw Assistant Director Coulson standing there placidly looking back at him. The door closed behind him, locking him into an unavoidable conversation. The looked at each other, not speaking, for several tense moments, before Steve broke it with, “Don’t try to stop me sir.”

“I’ve never been able to stop you from doing something once you set your mind to it, Agent. And when one of your own agents is in danger, I have even less of a say,” Coulson replied in his quiet and calm cadence.

“I’m not an agent anymore sir,” Steve admitted. Coulson, like Clint, didn’t look surprised at the revelation.

But all he said was, “Director Fury told me that you’re on medical leave. Get some rest, and come back when you’re ready.”

The elevator slowed to a gentle stop before the doors slid open again. “Special Agent Rogers, off the record?” Coulson said, as Steve turned to leave, “Give them hell, and bring Agent Barnes back safely.”

Steve looked back over his shoulder and nodded once. The message was clear.

And he would do whatever it takes to bring his friend back.

* * *

 

Home was a recollection of happy times when Steve and Bucky were together. The ghosts of the two flit around the apartment, sitting on the threadbare ugly red sofa that Steve didn’t want to throw away because it was comfortable and he would throw unpopped popcorn kernels at Bucky’s head whenever he grumbled about it as they watched baseball games on the old TV box; Bucky hugging Steve sleepily from behind and nuzzling at his cheek while Steve flipped perfectly golden-colored pancakes over, only barely stopping himself from turning right then and there to have sex on the kitchen counter because it was unsanitary and he was cooking,  _ goddammit _ ; Bucky’s tugging on Steve’s hand eagerly as they stumbled their way through the apartment floor, shedding clothes and kissing desperately, groping at each other like they couldn’t get enough.

The memories hurt, now that Bucky was gone. Steve felt lonely during the time he was gone, but back then, Steve had the knowledge that he would be back to carry him day by day. Now, he had nothing. Nothing but emptiness. 

Emptiness...and revenge. The second emotion bubbled in him like a boiling point of water. That’s what he was going to do: avenge his death. He was going to tear the Starks and HYDRA down, brick by brick.

Because it was Bucky’s last mission, and Steve was going to finish it, no matter the cost.

Mind made up, Steve walked through his flat, trying desperately to ignore the bittersweet memories that poured from every crevice of the apartment, and failing. Bucky’s civilian clothes were still mixed with his in the drawers and his shoes intermingled with his in the wardrobe. Steve took one of Bucky’s black shirts and brought it up to his nose to sniff tentatively, his face falling when all he could smell was detergent and not his scent. After a moment, Steve finally brought himself out of his reverie to fold the shirt neatly, and as he did so, something tumbled out of the chest pocket and onto the wardrobe.

He looked at it in horror. Slowly, as if he was in a dream, he moved to pick the ring up between his fingers, its metallic band glinting in the light of the room, and he put it on his ring finger. It fit perfectly, like it belonged there all along. He didn’t even know he was crying until he heard the  _ pit pat _ of drops on the wardrobe. When he looked down, the big, fat, ugly tears streamed down his face, blurring the view of his ring. 

It was beautiful; Steve loved it. He just wished that he got the chance to say “yes” to it. He sat collapsed onto his knees, letting his sadness go, and he curled up there, in the confines of his and Bucky’s room, sobbing at the loss of his closest companion and the love of his life.

He fell asleep as the tears continued to stream down his face, clutching his left hand to his chest in a pitiful attempt to bring the memory of Bucky closer to him.

-

Steve woke up feeling wrung out. As he laid there, numb, he stared at the ring in his hand, looking at the promise that never came to fruition. Steve shuddered as sorrow filled him again, but his eyes were dry, unable to produce more tears.

_ Five more minutes, _ he told himself, ignoring the ache on his side from laying on the hard ground all night.  _ Five more minutes, and then I’ll get up _ . It took two more hours before he finally found the energy to move from his place on the floor, and even then, it was because of the insistent pressure against his bladder. Steve looked at the ring again before he reluctantly pulled it off from his finger. He didn’t want to lose it on his mission, and it wouldn’t be good to have that with him because it would be too telling about his life. He first placed it on the wardrobe, smiling sadly as it caught the morning light on its golden shine.

Then, Steve picked it up and put it in the safe, right beside Bucky’s Glock. He took his own Carbonell and stashed it in the back waistband of his jeans. He dare not take anymore than that, even though he was going into the lion’s den; anything more than the gun he was carrying would be a sign that he was intending to create a war.

Not that he wasn’t, but it was a subtle war, one that would destroy them from the inside out.

Steve breathed, taking one last glance at the band before locking it away and turning his attention to the file the FBI had on the Stark Famiglia. It seemed robust, but Steve now knew that it had a lot of gaps still missing within the file. He read it so many times over the past two years that he essentially memorized it, but it never hurt to take another look at it to see if there was any other information that he could glean from between the lines.

Steve sat in his rolling chair, feet propped up against the mattress as he absentmindedly fiddled with the pen in his hand and focused on the papers before him.

He had a mission to perform.

-

Steve didn’t get anything new from reading the Stark file, nor did he get much from reading HYDRA’s files either. He and Bucky took down their operations ruthlessly, tearing it apart piece by piece and sending their leaders into the wolves of the legal system. As far as he knew, Johann Schmidt was still in maximum security federal prison with limited communication with the outside and absolutely none with his organization. In fact, Steve and Bucky wrote the entire file on HYDRA, and he remembered them like yesterday because it was his first major case as Special Agent in Charge. Putting their leaders behind bars was one of the most invigorating things he had ever done because it toppled an entire organization for the first time since Al Capone.

But now, he wasn’t so sure. It seemed as if HYDRA was back, like two heads growing in the place of one. And the fact that he didn’t know who was behind the organization now was an unsettling factor because new players meant new rules, rules that he didn’t know yet.

First, however, he needed to infiltrate the Starks. They were growing dangerous to the American people, and they needed to be stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a change in the last chapter if you read it soon after I posted it. It was a subtle change, but the implication of that change was vital. To recap, so that you don’t have to find it, was that Steve’s gun in the safe originally was a Beretta. I have since changed it: that gun he picks up? It’s now a Carbonell. It may be easy to guess who created that gun, but the journey towards that revelation will take a while. Stay tuned for more :)
> 
> This chapter is un-beta'ed.

It was a well-known fact that the Starks was a tight knit family; no member, associate, soldier or otherwise who had been caught by the FBI ever ratted out the family name. Close rivals and enemies on the other hand were fair game who theoretically had no problem dishing out any and all their information on the Family because they wanted them out of the competition. Therefore, then, the FBI should have had a robust file on the Stark.

It was not the case.

At one point, the FBI _had_ arrested one of Stark’s enemies – a _capo_ from the Stone family – who gleefully outlined every detail he knew about the Starks and Stones in exchange for his freedom. Had he kept his mouth shut, he would still be living life in prison today; instead, a homeless man stumbled upon his half-burnt corpse in an alleyway. He died a gruesome and slow death, according to the coroner’s report: his tongue was ripped from his mouth while he was still alive, a fitting punishment for spilling the mafia’s secrets; there were shallow cuts all over his body that were made from two different knives (and from two different people, the coroner said, hands flitting over the cuts and pointing at the angle of it. Half of the cuts were made with someone who was right-handed, and the other half was made with someone who was left-handed); and just before he lost consciousness from bleeding out, they branded him just over his heart: _bruciare_. Burn. Burn for breaking the Code of Silence, for betraying your brethren for your own skin.

To this day, the investigation of his death had hit a dead end, and no one knew if it were the Starks or the Stones who carried out the act. Or both, since both had a stake on his flesh. But the lesson was clearly and painfully learned within the syndicates: no betrayal will be tolerated; justice will be swiftly served because there is still honor among thieves. Since then, no member from any family had snitched, despite the Bureau’s best efforts to turn them.

Therefore, the only way to get information from out of the seedy underbelly is to go in as one of them. Bucky wasn’t the first – there were many who tried before him, but all had failed. And, in retrospect, it was clear why: they held themselves too much like a cop. Subtle differences, like a gun in a holster, could mean life or death in this world, and they failed the test. Bucky, however, broke through. He still had the swagger from living the Brooklyn life, so he knew. He knew how to carry himself like a gangsta’.

Or, in this case, an ex-military man and an ex-fed who turned on the American ideology, living his absolute life as a ruthless hitman-for-hire. The backstory was good. In fact, it was excellent enough to be invited into the family. And with his knowledge of the government, he was designated _consigliere_ within the year. Bucky advised the Stark _don_ Obadiah Stane, helping him bend the laws to the boss’s liking. And he was good, and the alias was perfect, up until that fateful moment when he met HYDRA.

And took a bullet for his efforts.

HYDRA knew Bucky’s face during that fateful day; then, if Steve were to encounter them, he would for sure meet the same fate as Bucky. Furthermore, he had no chance of having a backstopped story as good as Bucky’s – the Bureau’s resources were out the moment he left the badge on his desk. While the story of ex-military and ex-FBI agent may work as well as it did Bucky, it was highly unlikely that the Family would fall for that again.

No, he needed another way in.

* * *

 

While the Stark Famiglia may be difficult to encounter and enter among their ranks, those who had one foot nudging the line of illegal activity knew a lot more than people credit them for. With one ear to the underground and the other to the normal world, a runner’s knowledge is nearly encyclopedic. For a price, they would give up that information as well.

It just so happened that Steve knew a guy, one he had arrested for selling illegal firearms to the black market, including one Stark 0890 which had been involved in a high-profile murder Steve was investigating. In exchange for a lighter sentence, the man took up Steve’s deal to willingly give up what information he knew about the different Famiglias.

His status was low enough that he passed over the Mafia’s radar, but much of the information the FBI outside of their own undercover work came from him. Because he was so cooperative, everyone at the Bureau agreed that he would be better off as an informant.

Being slapped on the wrist and released didn’t stop him from toeing the line of law and regulations, but it sure helped Steve now on his mission.

-

Steve found him at the Ascent Lounge, sitting at the same sofa as he was when he was arrested. At the time, he was so focused on the investigation that he never found the time to appreciate what Steve could really see now. There was some beauty in dealing shady transactions while overlooking the view of Central Park and the bustling city below.

Steve approached the sofa. His target had his back to him, and he was talking animatedly to the two clients who were with him, their unimpressed faces doing nothing to deter him from flailing his hands about and nearly spilling his drink while he was at it.

“I really have the perfect location for you! Empty warehouse in Long Island, Bohemia area. It’s easy access, quick and clean…”

“And legal?” Steve asked frostily, right by Justin Hammer’s ear. As Hammer yelped, leaping from his seat and spilling his drink all over himself. Steve glared at the other two men. “Get out, and I’ll forget you ever existed.”

As much as they looked like they wanted to argue for the interruption of their meeting, they also looked extremely relieved to leave and not have to hear Hammer continue to sell them products. It took them less than five seconds to disappear, any trace of them gone.

“You just ran off my newest clients!” Hammer whined as he dabbed the spillage on his crisp white shirt. It wasn’t so much white as it was red now. “They were about to be sold! And you spilled my drink on my favorite shirt!”

Now it was Steve’s turn to look unimpressed. “They’re were going to give in because you were annoying them so much. They probably were going to agree, see the place, and pop a bullet in your skull so that you wouldn’t annoy anyone else. You should really thank me for saving your life instead,” Steve said flatly. “And really? A Bloody Mary?”

“I like it! Stop judging!” Steve lifted up his hands, placating, schooling his face so that he wouldn’t burst into laughter at the state of Hammer’s disarray. “Why are you here, Rogers? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I highly doubt that. Drugs, Hammer. By a school. What were you thinking?”

Hammer gives a small grimacing grin. “They were asking for it? And at least I’m cleaner than the other dealers out there?”

Steve was unimpressed. “Next time I catch you…” He let the threat hang for a moment before he switched topics. “But I’m not here for that today. I need some information. All you have on the Starks.”

Hammer’s eyes widened. He looked from side to side frantically, face serious for once before he leaned forward and hissed, “Are you shitting me? The Starks? You can’t ask me to give you information on the Starks! No can do, that’s off topic. We’re on their territory…!”

Steve leaned forward as well, face mere inches away from Hammer. “Listen to me, Justin. FBI Agent Barnes died in the line of duty trying to take down the Starks, and I’m here to finish his job. Now, you can tell me the best way to get into their den, or I can arrest you and throw you in prison for dealing drugs to kids.”

Hammer’s face was grim, and he hesitated. “Not here,” he finally whispered, setting down his drink. He reached into his suit pocket, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. “Meet me at eight tonight.” Hammer passed Steve the paper between his index and middle finger.

Steve took a moment to stare at Hammer with his hand outstretched. It was long enough to make Hammer squirm uncomfortably. “Don’t fuck with me,” Steve warned, slowly taking the paper from Hammer’s fingers. “At least five years in prison, no probation.”

Hammer nodded vigorously, head bobbing like a bobblehead. “Nope, not running away.”

Steve didn’t deign that with an answer, simply turning away instead and walking out. Steve knew that Hammer would be there if he knew what was good for him. After all, even if he may be on the government side, Steve was scarier than any mafia member.

He was an elite tracker, after all. And Hammer knew that.

-

The autumn moonlight shone through the windows, casting the warehouse in dim and eerie light. Yet, there were places that the light could not reach, and the utter darkness was disconcerting. The door opened with a long creak, almost like whoever was opening the door was trying to be as quiet as he could, and he was almost embarrassed by the noise. When the croak faded away, stolen by the night air, slow footsteps echoed throughout the empty building, sounding almost…hesitant.

“Agent Rogers?” Hammer asked quietly, voice sounding loud in the utter stillness.

A scuff against the ground in the darkness of the shadows sent Hammer stepping back in fear. “Justin Hammer. You are five minutes late,” Steve said lowly, moving partially into the moonlight. He knew he made an imposing figure, the eerie scene not helping the situation one bit.

Hammer squeaked in fear. “I’m sorry! I got caught up in traffic!”

Steve snorted. “A weak excuse. You deliberately chose this time to fly under the radar and encounter less traffic. You know as well as I do that you’re scared.”

“Of course I’m scared! Don’t you know who they are and their reputation? Do you remember the last runner? He spilled the secrets on the Starks, and his body was cut up to pieces for talking to the feds! If they catch me, who knows what they’ll do to me!”

“And don’t forget who I am, Hammer,” Steve replied. “I’m just as frightening as them, if not scarier. I can put you with your buddies in jail for spilling secrets of them to us. I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

Hammer took another step backwards, and Steve took one step forwards. “Just because I’m on the so-called good side doesn’t make me good, and my file reflects that. I know you’ve seen my file. Whatever skills I had in the war hadn’t deteriorated. If you try to run, I _will_ track you down, and I will succeed.”

Steve took another step forward, one step closer to Justin. “Now, tell me about the Starks, and I’ll let you go for another day.”

“Okay, okay, fine. The Starks.” Hammer took a deep breath and he exhaled before continuing, “They’re the largest underground weapons dealer in the U.S. Obadiah Stane is their current _don_ , and James Barnes was their _consigliere_ before being shot by HYDRA and presumably killed…”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Hammer,” Steve interrupted him with a growl and making Hammer jump nervously. “Stop wasting my time.”

“Okay okay!” Hammer blabbered. “Anthony Stark is the underboss of the Stark Famiglia. He was supposed to be the next _don_ after his father died, but he passed the position on to Stane because he didn’t want it, and besides, back then, he was too young to run. They would have turned on him.

“The Starks are big in four sectors. Stark runs a major operation in weaponry underground, providing a lot of weapons to the other syndicates. Virginia Potts deals with human trafficking, and she has an above-ground operation in the middle of Manhattan. Her storefront is a bar off of Fifth Avenue. Edwin Jarvis deals with prostitution, and his people are their handlers. Stane runs the money for the Family, and he runs a money laundering ring.”

“So the best way to enter their operations is through Potts then,” Steve said.

Hammer shrugged. “You can try, but she’s loyal, just as they all are. They have a three-part vetting process before you can even enter their ranks, and they haven’t had people turn on them. Barnes was the first one, and for all I know, he was the only one who have turned on the Family. Because of his disloyalty, rumor says that there is unrest in their ranks. They don’t know who else is going to turn on them. Perhaps you can slip in, but at the same time, they may be at their highest guard right now because they don’t know who to trust.”

“Is there any more information I need to know?” Steve asked.

“You need a new gun, Rogers. That Carbonell you have there isn’t going to work. No one uses those guns down here because it labels you as a fed or a cop.” Hammer held out a small, nondescript black case. Steve took it and opened it in his hand. “A Stark 1004. One of the newest on the current market and a small vixen. I think you’ll like her.”

Steve plucked the gun out of the case and inserted the bullets into the chamber with a distinct snap. Hammer, as much as Steve detested him, was right about one thing. The Stark was a beautiful gun, polished and smooth. “She packs a real punch, and her recoil is second to none,” Hammer said. “Stark keeps outdoing himself. While this one packs bullets, and I hear that Stark’s next invention won’t require bullets at all.”

Steve lifted the gun up to shoulder level, and before Hammer could even get out, “Don-,” Steve fired the gun. The ensuing hole from the bullet let in a small stream of clear moonlight from the outside. “Hmmm, silent,” Steve said approvingly, ignoring the way Hammer let out a whine of despair from the property damage. “I’ll take it.” Steve turned to leave.

“You ruined my perfectly good warehouse! And how about my payment?” Hammer said, voice high-pitched.

Steve snorted. “This warehouse is on the list to be demolished, Hammer. Stop trying to fool me. You can’t win. And write an invoice to the FBI accounts receivable department if you dare. Now scram before I rethink about letting you go for selling drugs to minors.”

Hammer was still whining about the bullet hole and the fact that he was going to die under Stark’s hands as he left the building, leaving Steve in the darkened warehouse alone. Once Steve was sure Hammer was gone, he smirked, cocking the hammer back on the gun.

All in a day’s work.

* * *

 

Steve was not a patient man but staking out a suspect’s or a target’s place was a necessary albeit evil task. While it was a bit early for alcoholic drinks, it was the perfect time to sit in the café across the street with a cup of americano (God bless America). Steve dressed discreetly, wearing a light blue t-shirt with its short sleeves hugging his shoulders and biceps tightly and the neck of the shirt dipping down into a v on his chest; his baseball cap rooted for the Dodgers (despite them moving to Los Angeles, those traitors); and he had a pair of aviator glasses that shielded his eyes from the sun…and any suspicious passers-by. Steve deliberately slumped in his seat, turning his body just so so that he could observe the pedestrians that walked by. In his hands held a book, and he turned the pages occasionally.

The sign at the front of Virginia Pott’s door declared the bar currently closed, and expectedly, no one had entered the building yet. Steve sipped his coffee, waiting, being bored of waiting, and wishing he didn’t quit the Bureau just so he could have had some company. He would even take Clint’s witty sarcastic remarks in his ear too over white noise just so that he would be taken out of his mind. But because there was nothing but waiting, all Steve could think about was Bucky, his death replaying in his mind like a broken record. While the memory still made his chest ache with longing and pain, he had a job to do; there were no time for tears.

When the red door opened, it wasn’t to a female, much as he expected. Rather, two kids blocked the view of the door, and they seemed to definitely be underage. One of them, who seemed to be no more than fourteen or fifteen years old, turned the handle and entered into the building, and the smaller kid trailed on his heels. Steve frowned slightly at the lack of parental supervision when the door shut behind them, but he stayed where he was, body instantly becoming more alert at the change in situation.

Perhaps it was nothing: one of their parents could be prepping the bar, and they were just coming home from school to do homework while the bar was still closed. Or it could be more. New York traffic picked up as more and more people got off work, people rushing to and fro. The bar door’s opened again, its glossy red shine glinting slightly in the late afternoon sun. The two children stepped through the threshold and weaved through the crowd of people, appearing and disappearing between the legs of frantic pedestrians. It was near easy to miss what happened next: the children disappeared temporarily behind the view of a yellow New York taxi, but cry of “Let go of me! Help!” arose from the honks and the engine roars. Steve leaped up, observing as the children reappeared again from behind the taxi. They jerked in the grip of a nondescript white man wearing a crisp business suit, but they were no match for his strength. Steve began to weave through the bumper-to-bumper traffic, focusing on diffusing the situation as they continued to move away unwillingly.

“Kids!” the man was saying back, “Pipe down! You’re embarrassing me in the middle of the sidewalk!” No passing onlooker gave them a second glance as the children fought against the tight grip.

“Hey!” The sharp bark rose above all the external noise, and Steve took a moment to jerk his head to see a woman with flaming red hair and sharp black stilettos standing in the middle of the sidewalk. “Let them go!”

The warning did nothing to stop the man from continuing to drag the children forcibly away, and their cries of help slowly began to muddle with the rest of the metropolitan noise. But there was also another, just-as-pressing issue. As Steve trudged through the second half of the bumper-to-bumper traffic and the woman forced her way through the crowd, pedestrian traffic was forcibly stopped as another group of men wearing business suits blocked her way to save the children. Normally, angry pedestrians would push their way at the disruption, but no such thing happened when six gunshots echoed in the air. Screams started instead, and the crowd ducked down instinctively. More guns were trained on the woman.

“Sorry,” one of the men said. His gun was trained directly at her sternum, and only a couple inches separated the skin from metal. “However, Ivan Vanko sends his regards.”

“He’s despicable,” she spat back, unconcerned by the proximity. “Targeting kids is a new low, even for you guys.”

“We’re keeping your Family in line and to have insurance for our talks next week. We just want to ensure full cooperation.”

The woman laughed in the man’s face, a short and sharp bark. With an inhuman speed, her left hand whipped up to grab the gun in front of her, disarming the man. Simultaneously, she moved forward, right elbow raised to connect to his jugular and taking his breath away. She turned clockwise, flaming hair flying in the air, as she shot the two men to her left with the disarmed gun. Her right arm stretched out to catch the man on the back of his neck, bending him over to take her knee in the solar plexus. He went down like a sack of potatoes. As she finally pistol-whipped the first man in the temple, the last man caught up to speed with the situation. He began to pull the trigger.

But the bullet never made its intended target.

Steve knocked his arm up just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet cracked into the air as the last man went down with a well-placed punch to the face. Steve looked into her wild eyes. She looked surprised to see him. “There are kids,” the woman told him.

Steve nods. “I know.”

“Please, save them. I need to hold the fort down,” she said. “I’ll take care of this.”

It was a dismissal, and well-founded too. By now, the crowd began to pick itself up from the ground, frightened and stunned. “Move!” Steve yelled, pressing through the crowd. Nearly immediately, the crowd parted to let him through. “Move, move, move!” With the crowd at a standstill, it was easy to spot the people still moving, two blocks down. However, there were two men now, and the children were limp on their backs. Steve ran, shouting with enough urgency and command that the bystanders immediately moved aside to let him through.

It took another block before Steve reached their rapidly moving pace. “Stop!” he yelled. Surprisingly, they did, and Steve slowed to a walk, keeping some distance between them and him. “Release them,” Steve demanded. The men turned slightly, not relinquishing his hold on them.

“Or what?” one the men rumbled. He switched his grip so that the child, the older one, was no longer piggy-backing the man, but now laid slump across the man’s arm in front of him. The man then pressed the muzzle of the gun against his temple. “I’m an advantage here, with the two kids. And I’m not above to pulling the trigger.”

“Or we could do this,” a new voice piped up, and two crackles of electricity buzzed in the evening air before the smell of burnt meat followed it. The men went down, limp. The older boy moved aside so that the gun and the arm fell away from his head, and the younger one leapt down from the other man’s back. The two children looked at the men slumped on the ground.

The smaller child spoke first, still looking at the man. “Wow, Tony really did increase the amperage. You think they’re dead?”

The older boy laughed before nudging the limp arm with his foot. “No, a human body could take a lot of electricity before they die.” He turned to Steve, who was standing there, surprised. “We didn’t need your help, but thank you.”

“Yea, no problem,” Steve said faintly, surprised that they held their own.

“We’ll be on our way now,” the older boy said, grabbing the hand of the younger child. But before they walked away, leaving Steve standing there with the two downed men, the boy asked, “What’s your name?”

“Steve,” Steve said automatically.

The boy smiled. “Thank you, Steve. My name’s Peter.”

“And I’m Harley!” the younger boy interjected. “Thank you and very nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you,” Peter echoed, and the two began to their trek.

“Wait!” Steve said. Peter and Harley stopped, turning at the command. Peter cocked his head questioningly. “You were just attacked. Maybe you shouldn’t leave by yourself?”

Peter smiled. “We can take care of ourselves just fine.”

Steve shook his head. “I insist. Let me make sure that you’ll get home safely.”

The two children looked at each other, conversing silently with their eyes, before Peter finally shrugged. “I suppose. Our place isn’t far.”

And so Steve trailed behind Peter and Harley, the pair talking about engineering and math at a level Steve was fairly sure was not taught in high school. Whoever they were, they were both up advanced level college courses. Steve, for all the college courses he took, had never prepared him for the way the two bantered about linear algebra and how the slightest change in the equations would create a dramatic effect on the proposal they were working on.

“What do you think, Steve?” Peter asked unexpectedly, turning to him.

Steve blinked. “I’ll have to admit that I lost you ever since the conversation began,” he said, a lopsided smile gracing his face in embarrassment.

Peter and Harley laughed. “It’s okay. Tony’s been teaching us high level mathematics because he’s been wanting to recruit us for his projects. And they’re fun and interesting,” Harley said.

“Oh?” Steve said. “And what projects might that be?”

Harley opened his mouth eagerly to tell Steve all about it, but Peter shut him up with a stern glance. “We’re not allowed to talk about it,” Peter replied apologetically, although he didn’t look that apologetic for not revealing those secrets. “They’re amazing though, and they keep us entertained when our homework is done.”

The trills of Taylor Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble” interrupted their conversation, and Peter blushed as he fumbled for his phone. “Excuse me,” Peter said to Harley and Steve. He nearly dropped it but managed to catch it at the last second before the screen shattered to a million pieces.

“You changed my ringtone again!” was the first thing that came out of his mouth when he connected the call. Peter paused, listening to the other end of the line. While Steve tried listening in, it seemed as if Peter had near superhuman hearing because he couldn’t even hear the murmurs. “Yeah, we’re fine. Yea…yea. Steve saved us, but we also used the bracelets you gave us. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I wanna speak to Tony too!” Harley said, making grabby hands at the phone.

Peter smiled indulgently. “Yea. Let me pass the phone to him.”

As Harley chatted away excitedly down the line, Peter said, “He was worried about us when we didn’t check in with Pepper earlier. But he’s also given us trackers, so he’s not too worried. I think he was making sure that you didn’t kidnap us too.”

Steve’s face reddened. “Of course not! I would never do that!”

“I know. I trust you,” Peter replied, face earnest. Steve was flabbergasted that a mere child had so much trust in a stranger he didn’t know, but Peter continued, “You saved us from the bad men, and for that Tony’s grateful.”

“Tony?” Steve asked, probing.

Peter replied, “Our dad. He’s amazing.”

While Steve didn’t get the answer he wanted, he smiled all the same at the loving grin that was on Peter’s face. “I’m sure he is.”

Harley said, “Bye, Tony!” and handed the phone back to Peter before facing Steve. “Tony told me to tell you ‘thank you’ as well.”

“Don’t thank me,” Steve replied. “I did what any rational citizen would do.”

Peter shook his head, beginning to walk again. “You saw the other strangers. They walked straight past us without batting an eye. You stopped to help. Besides, you’re walking us home.”

“Tony’s waiting for us,” Harley said. “He wants to know about the bracelet and see what he could do to improve it. Also, he has some new toys for us to play and tinker with.”

Peter ruffled Harley’s hair affectionately even as the younger child squawked indignantly and ducked under his hand. “Alright.”

“Home” was a metropolitan New York home: skinnier and taller, built with darkened bricks. In the front stood a door, red in all its glory with an autumn wreath on it. Peter and Harley turned to Steve. “Thanks for walking us home,” Peter said, and he smiled brilliantly. Steve couldn’t help but grin back.

“You’re welcome.”

“Steve,” Harley said. “Tony told me to tell you not to go back to the bar tonight.”

“Hmm?” Steve tilted his head questioningly.

“Bar’s gonna be closed. You’ll be wasting your time.”

“It’s Friday night.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed. “But it’s going to be a busy night, and you won’t be able to get in without an invitation.”

Peter grabbed Harley’s hand. “Thanks again for helping us! Bye Steve!”

“Be safe,” Steve replied. With a final wave, Peter closed the door and left Steve on the sidewalk with even more questions.

-

The warning did not deter him from going back to the bar, but unsurprisingly, security turned him away at the door. “You are not permitted to enter,” the guard said. “We have orders.”

It was clear that they knew him and were prepared this eventuality, and Steve wasn’t dumb enough to try and kill himself before he even started his mission. But it didn’t stop him from returning the next evening.

This time, they let him in.

When Steve walked in, he was struck by the sight: the Potts was fancy, if not fancier, than Ascent Lounge. The room basked in a soft blue light, illuminated by soft white lamps that sat on low-rise coffee tables. Sleek black tables had candles flickering joyfully to brighten their surroundings further. While a ballroom dance floor claimed a massive amount of space on the ground floor, a staircase extended from the dance floor to lead into the balcony. Windows stretched from the second floor to the ceiling, revealing the upper half of the Manhattan skyline.

“Wow,” Steve breathed, momentarily forgetting his mission. When he finally looked forward, he caught the eye of a woman looking amusedly at him a few feet away.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Her voice was soft, but there was a unique rasp to her timbre, a sexy one. She exuded confidence, and her red curls bounced as she walked…no, prowled forwards to him.

Steve smiled. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s…breathtaking.”

“That’s what most people say when they first come in here,” she replied. “May I get you a drink?”

“What do you recommend?”

“All of the drinks are excellent, but my favorite is the ‘Black Widow,’ a nice, strong shot of vodka, club soda, a dash of lime, and a generous pour of blue raspberry liquor. Add butterfly pea flower to make the drink change colors.”

“That sounds delicious.” Steve grabbed the menu off the nearest table, and his eyes were automatically drawn to a red and gold one. “How about ‘Iron Man?’”

She laughs delightedly. “Molecular mixology. Our special. Coffee beans and Sambuca with a glass of vodka lemonade.”

Steve paused for a moment. “Interesting,” Steve finally got out. He must have not suppressed his disgust quickly enough because she laughed again.

“It’s pretty good, even if it sounds disgusting.”

“I’ll drink to ‘Iron Man!’” a man said behind Steve. “And get him one too. Put it on my tab Natasha,” a man said behind Steve. Steve tilted his body slightly, subtly including the man into the conversation. The woman dipped her head in acknowledgement, turning away to go to the bar. With her gone, Steve turned fully to the man and caught his honey-brown eyes staring at him. Steve’s own eyes widened in surprise: it was the unidentified man he saw on the tarmac, the one who stood beside Bucky. Up close, his tousled brown hair and goatee shaped his face attractively, and for a moment, Steve was speechless.

The man cleared his throat after an inordinate amount of time. “Wow, they never said you were gorgeous.”

Steve jolted back to the present and tilted his head in confusion. “Who?” he asked blankly.

The man jerked back slightly in surprise before he gave an “aw shucks” grin. But before he could speak up, he was interrupted by a “Ignore Tony. He was raised by wolves.” It was the woman that he saved yesterday. She handed the man a drink, a plate propping up the glass. The man put the plate on the table and the soft yellow drink beside it.

“Aw, Pepper!” The man named Tony gave her a brilliant grin, and she gave him a flat stare in return.

“Get your head out of your dick,” she countered before returning her attention back to Steve. She handed the second drink to Steve. “Here you go, the ‘Iron Man’ you ordered. On the house for giving me a hand and rescuing Peter and Harley. Name’s Virginia, though Tony calls me ‘Pepper.’”

Steve shook Pepper’s outstretched hand. “Steve.” She gave a knowing nod. “However, Peter and Harley saved themselves. They hardly needed my help.”

“They couldn’t stop talking about you yesterday,” Tony said. Tony plucked Steve’s “Iron Man” out of his fingers and gave him a shit-eating grin. “’Iron Man’ isn’t just a drink. It’s an experiment. Watch.”

With a dramatic flair, Tony pulled out a mini blowtorch from out of thin air and aimed it at the plate, where Steve now could see a few coffee beans on it. The beans caught on fire.

“That’s the Sambuca,” Tony said as he switched off the torch. He scooped up the beans and dumped half of it in Steve’s drink before dumping it in his own. “Here you go. I present to you, the ‘Iron Man.’”

Natasha returned with a glass for herself and Pepper, and they clinked glasses. Steve took a healthy swallow of his drink and immediately felt the burn of the alcohol going down his body. “Wow,” he said, eyes wide.

Tony looked at him knowingly. “It’ s good, isn’t it.” His glass was completely empty, save for the three coffee beans at the bottom of the cup.

Steve agreed. “Strong too.”

“We don’t cheat our clients, Steve. Not here. We give them the highest quality drinks at the most reasonable prices. It’s why our regulars come back again and again,” Pepper said, putting down her drink on the table.

“I believe you,” Steve replied. “With a view like this, who doesn’t want to come back?”

Tony grinned. “And you haven’t seen the end of it. We have a rooftop bar as well.”

“A…” Steve was momentarily speechless, although come to think of it, he wasn’t surprised either. “Can I see it?”

Tony set his drink down and grabbed for Steve’s hand, ignoring the way Steve slightly flinched at the unexpected contact. He raced across the dance floor and bounced up the stairs two at a time before abruptly turning left and punching a button. Previously unseen elevator doors slid open smoothly, and they entered it. Tony placed a hand against the wall beside the floor buttons.

“Identity confirmed,” announced a female voice from overhead. Steve automatically looked up, but he saw nothing but the night sky.

“Rooftop bar please, FRIDAY,” Tony said.

“Of course boss.” The doors shut with a barely perceptible click and the ride up was so smooth that Steve felt as if he wasn’t moving.

“This is FRIDAY,” Tony said. “She’s an AI for this building and operates most of the technology in here.”

“There’s really no end to the surprises,” Steve commented. The back wall of the elevator was made with glass, so Steve could see the Manhattan skyline as well as the view of Central Park below. He admitted, “I could live here.”

“Yea,” Tony breathed. “It really is a beautiful place.”

The door slid open smoothly to the rooftop bar. And really, not only was it a bar, but also a garden with the perfect view of the skyline.

“Could anything here be any less perfect?” Steve breathed.

Tony laughed, heading towards the bar. “Pepper designed this place singlehandedly, so no, I don’t think so. I just did the physical labor.”

Steve followed behind Tony slowly, still looking around in awe. “I can’t believe I’ve never knew about this place even though I lived in New York all my life!”

“Thank you, dear,” Tony was saying to the server behind the bar before he returned to Steve’s side. “It’s mostly an invite-only lounge. People can’t typically come in unless they were referred by someone else who had previously been here. It’s so that we can give our clients the best experience.”

“Cheers for beautiful views and a new-found friendship,” Tony toasted.

“Cheers,” Steve echoed, and they clinked their glasses.

This time, the drink tasted like sweet lime with a punch of alcohol. Steve finished the drink in five swallows. “That was good.”

“Pepper creates the best drinks,” Tony agreed. He took Steve’s empty glass from him and placed it by the serving tray for cleanup. “But I brought you here for some private conversation as well.”

“I’m glad you were there to help Pepper. If you hadn’t, I would have lost three of my closest people. There’s no way I can repay you.” Tony’s face was serious. “But I can’t help but notice the fact that you’re definitely not a civilian. Are you military? Because there would be no way you wouldn’t blink at the violence in the broad daylight.”

“Ex,” Steve confirmed. “I used to be Army.”

“That would do it. But still, you didn’t even hesitate, and for that I’m grateful. Tell me, are you looking for a job?”

“As it just so happens,” Steve said, “I am. I quit my last job due to personal circumstances.”

Tony’s smile was brilliant and gorgeous, and Steve couldn’t help but smile in return. “Great!” Tony said. “You’re hired. I should have done this before, but I also thought they were safe. I thought they would be protected under the Code, but I was wrong. I'm putting Happy on babysitting duty, but that means Pepper's unprotected. I want you to protect Pepper.”

Steve nodded his assent. Then he asked, “Who is Ivan Vanko anyway?”

Tony grimaced slightly, not able to school his face quickly enough. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Yesterday, when Pepper was facing the group of men, one of them said that ‘Ivan Vanko sends his regards.’”

“He’s an enemy of mine,” Tony said, after a moment. “His father and my father used to be colleagues, but they had a falling out. Their hatred of each other has carried onto him, and while I thought I could try to patch up some semblance of an alliance, it doesn’t seem that he agrees.”

“Are you still gonna try to patch things up?”

Tony shook his head. “All bets were off when he tried taking my kids,” he said viciously. “No one takes my kids and gets away with it.

“No, we’re going to _eliminate_ them,” Tony said with finality.

“Not kill them, I imagine.” Steve wasn’t uncomfortable with the notion, though. He agreed with Tony: anyone who decided to touch kids deserved to be eliminated from the earth.

Tony gave Steve a feral grin. “Steve, I don’t know if you know this, but it’s better if you know now than later. We’re not just a legal business. We’re also the mafia. And we follow a code. While we are very lenient, when push comes to shove, if people take advantage of our generosity, we take that away.”

“The Vankos are trying to take over our territory in Manhattan,” Tony continued, “and since it’s a large place, I thought we could work out borders amicably. Now? They lost all of that when they thought they could blackmail us with my kids. Now? The Family is hunting every single one of them down.”

“The Family protects, Steve.” Tony looked at Steve with heated eyes before he said quietly, “I understand if you’d like to back out, since we don’t necessarily operate legally. But then I’d have to kill you.”

Steve shook his head, reminding himself of the mission to avenge Bucky’s death. “No, I’m staying in.”

The look Tony gave him was grateful and pleased, and he stretched out his hand. “Great. I’m glad. I’d hate killing such a pretty face.”

Steve shook Tony’s hand, sealing the business deal.

Mission: making contact with the Starks. Accomplished.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me and my bad habit of changing stuff after I post. Sorry about that. This time, I made a change a couple of days after my original post. Before, Tony hired Steve to protect Peter and Harley. Upon further contemplation, I realize that Tony, no matter how well-intentioned someone initially is, would never put a mere stranger on babysitting duty for his kids. So, I changed it to Happy on babysitting duty and Steve on Pepper bodyguard duty, because she’s a badass and can hold her own. It also gives Steve a chance to continue his quest.
> 
> Chapter was half-beta'ed by me. I got tired of reading it halfway through, so I'll probably edit it later if I find any mistakes.

Pepper nodded in greeting when Steve walked into the bar promptly at noon a few days later. She nodded at him before she turned to Natasha, who sat on the bar counter swinging her legs gently over the edge. Natasha held a glass of beer in her hand, and she was nursing it while Pepper wiped down the counter. “Natasha, you’re dismissed. Go get some sleep.”

“Early day tomorrow?” she asked lightly as she gracefully leaped off the counter, her heels clicking daintily upon the tiled floor. She smiled at Steve, and he smiled hesitantly back. He was unnerved by her grin because the way she looked at him seemed as if she knew all his secrets. Natasha finally gave him a reprieve and turned to face Pepper again. She leaned over the counter, and Pepper gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Pepper said, “Yep. Knowing Tony, he’s gonna do something rash with the information.”

“A cleansing.” When Pepper nodded, Natasha’s grin turned feral. “Perfect.”

Pepper laughed at the manic look on her face. “Yes, sweetheart. Perfect for your bloodlust. You did a good job breaking him.”

Natasha downed the beer and set the empty glass back on the counter. “Last kiss for goodnight?”

Steve turned his head to the side in embarrassment when the kiss lasted longer than he expected, being an unwitting voyeur to their relationship. Natasha yelped and giggled before Pepper said, “I’ll see you later.”

Steve didn’t want to know.

Natasha smirked at Steve’s very-red face when she passed him on the way out, but then she stopped for a moment to lean up and whisper in his ear, “Pepper can take care of herself, but if I ever find out that she’s hurt on your watch because you didn’t do your job, you’ll regret it.”

Steve nodded once, shivering at the dangerous look in her eyes. Natasha looked at him a beat longer, then her lips curled up slightly. “Good.” She sauntered out, and Steve watched her sashay her hips as she left. Steve turned back to face Pepper, who was staring past him with her mouth half-opened.

“You and her?” Steve asked rhetorically.

Pepper hummed absently. “Yea,” she breathed. It took several beats longer before she shook herself back to the present. “Welcome,” she told Steve.

Steve didn’t really know what to say in response. “Glad to be here” wasn’t an appropriate response, not with his mind so focused on avenging Bucky’s death. He wasn’t glad to be in the devil’s pit, even if Pepper and Tony, and hell, even Natasha seemed nice.

However, he _was_ out of a job, and the fact that Tony had taken him in as a bodyguard was an action Steve could appreciate. So he said, “Thanks for hiring me.”

Pepper cleaned Natasha’s empty glass and put it away, wiping down the last uncleaned section of the countertop before asking, “I’m assuming Tony gave you the rundown in what we do.”

Steve nodded. “You are mafia.”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I have to say that I’m honestly surprised that Tony took to you so quickly, considering that we’re almost always on guard and we don’t trust easily.” Pepper stared at Steve with the same intensity that Natasha gave him earlier, and it took all of Steve’s willpower to not squirm under her gaze. “I suppose I see what he sees in you, and the fact that you did help me a couple days ago does count for something.”

“I dislike bullies, ma’am,” Steve said honestly. His statement diffused her strong gaze, and Pepper cracked a smile.

“Then you’ll fit right here.” Pepper stepped out of the bar and beckoned Steve over. “I need a hand carrying wine boxes up from the storage. And call me ‘Pepper;’ ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old.”

Steve nodded.

“The Starks sure do employ strong women,” Steve said lightly, as a non-sequitur.

“They sure do.” Pepper led Steve down the stairs and turned a sharp right, entering into a roomy and chilled storage room. She bent down and picked up a wine crate, handing it to Steve before picking one up for herself. “We are good for infiltration because we can go in and out of places unsuspected. The mafia generally employ the traditional patriarchal family, but men always have their limitations. People always suspect men, but they underestimate women. The traditional hierarchy doesn’t think women are good enough for infiltration because we’re too emotional or we can’t handle the pressure. On the other hand, the Starks see our potential, and they utilize us because they’re not above admitting that we are just as good as men.”

Steve wholeheartedly agreed. He had seen young female agents like Maria Hill bud into one of the most talented agents on the field, skills surpassing most men. At the thought of his old life, he smiled sadly.

He missed the camaraderie of his friends back at the Bureau. Before the FBI, it was the military, and before that, it was just Bucky. Going underground and undercover meant that he had to push away all his friends with no guarantee that he’ll get them back when the mission’s over. While he enjoyed the company of Pepper, Tony, and even Natasha, it wasn’t the same, and he didn’t trust them, not really. Not like the way he could trust his former colleagues and unit to have his six.

When they returned to the bar level with their crates of wine, Tony was sitting casually at the bar, tie loosened around his neck and the two buttons at his collar unbuttoned. While he looked otherwise unruffled as he casually sipped his golden-rich whiskey, Steve could see small spatters of dark red droplets that stained his sleeves.

“Tony,” Pepper greeted, setting down her crate on the counter. Steve set his down beside hers. “I see you’ve already broke into my best liquor cabinet.”

Tony smiled grimly, downing the final finger of his glass before pouring another generous amount in. “There is no end to how low Vanko can go,” Tony growled.

“Sex trafficking,” Pep said rhetorically. “Natasha told me.”

Tony looked at Pepper and Steve with saddened eyes. “Sex trafficking, Pep. I can’t let that go. They’re taking women right off the street and putting them into brothels overseas. We need to find the crates, and fast.”

“We’re undermanned, Tony,” Pepper retorted softly. She placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeezed it, nonverbally showing her solidarity. “We’ve sent the other soldiers to clean house in LA. The others are in Chicago and Vegas on break.”

“I don’t care,” Tony replied. He gripped his glass so hard that his knuckles turned white and his eyes pleaded at them. “We need to take care of this or else we won’t get another chance. They’ll be lost, and they don’t deserve that life. If I had more people in the rest of the world, I wouldn’t be as worried, but no. We need to do it here and now.”

Pepper sighed, staring at him for a long moment before she nodded.

“Steve,” she said. “Looks like your first job came earlier than anticipated.”

Steve could see the absolute devastation in Tony’s eyes, and his reply just slipped out. “At your service. I’m in, if I can save them. Count me in as one of your hands.”

“Good,” Tony said. “We need all the hands we can get. The Vankos might be lower than dirt, but they aren’t dumb. They’ll have a lot of guards protecting their products.” Tony knocked back his drink again, and Steve was surprised that when Tony looked directly at him, his eyes were still bright and focused. “This isn’t the first time we’ve hit them, you know. We gave them chances to clean house and not resort to dirty dealings. But they have no moral code, and I’m sick of them trying to deal with them.”

Tony stood up. “So, soldier, you fully in? Ready to clean house? It’s gonna be a long battle because we’re annihilating them. We’re gonna leave no soldier alive.”

The passion in Tony’s honey-brown eyes was very attractive, Steve thought, as he gazed into his eyes up close. They didn’t look like the eyes of a hardened killer. Completely opposite, in fact. They looked like someone who was willing to lay down the line for everything good.

He could get behind that.

“Yea,” he replied.

There must be some good in the Famiglia after all. But the question is, is it _all_ good?

 _Patience_ , Steve thought to himself. _The game has only started_.

“If you’re done staring at each other,” Pepper said, interrupting their moment. Tony and Steve snapped back and faced her. She looked unimpressed by their blushing faces. “Tony, you’ve got a lot of work to do, and at the top of that list is Obi’s weapons request.”

“Obi’s always asking for weapons.” Tony looked exasperated. “Doesn’t he know that I’ve got more important things to do?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Obi’s _don_ , you know that. We can’t go against him.”

Tony sighed. “Yea, yea. I know. His word’s law.”

“You could just…” Pepper started to say, but Tony cut her off.

“No, not another word on that.” Tony frowned at her. “You know I’m not fit for that, and besides, I enjoy the freedom and the interaction with rest of the Family.”  

Tony slipped off his seat, placing the glass on the counter. “Alright, since Obi’s so demanding, I guess I better get back to my workshop before we do the mission.”

“Before you leave, you better go up to say ‘hi’ to the girls. They’ll be disappointed if you didn’t.” Pepper jerked her head towards the back of the bar.

Tony pouted, his bottom lip sticking out and his eyes wide. It took everything for Steve not to laugh at the cuteness of it, but Tony managed to see it anyway and gave him a quick wink. “Kicking me out already Pep? I’m sad.”

Pepper rolled her eyes.  “You’ve got a lot work to do, Tony.”

“You can’t rush genius!” Tony retorted, even as he began to walk towards the direction of the elevator.

“Don’t get lost up there, Tony!” Pepper called back. Steve watched as Tony flapped his hand in the air carelessly before the elevator door closed behind him.

“Lost?” Steve asked.

“The girls are always trying to flirt with him,” Pepper replied. “Tony encourages it.”

Steve’s lovestruck face fell, but Pepper said immediately, “Nothing ever comes of it, Steve. He just loves the attention.”

“Oh,” Steve said.

Pepper rolled her eyes. She said exasperatedly, “Steve, Tony likes you. Trust me. I haven’t seen that lovesick face in a long time. Just don’t forget that the women have his back too. You hurt him, you disappear. Permanently.”

Steve nodded, fully believing her threat. She and Natasha had that look, the look of being able to murder someone at the drop of a hat. He turned back to take one last glance of the closed elevator doors, thinking about the possibility of possibly loving someone like Tony before the pang of Bucky’s death shuddered through him.

For him, it was still too early to love without hurting and remembering, but all the same, he was falling in love with a passionate man with bright honey eyes that glowed with cleverness. He just wished that he could have shared the love with another man that had stole his heart long ago.

-

The shipment happened twelve hours later, and Steve hadn’t slept since his shift as a guard ended four hours ago. As the clocked ticked down since Tony broke the news, Steve became more and more wired, especially because Pepper, Tony, and then Natasha when she returned from her sleep were talking strategy to take down all the guards with catastrophic damage to them and minimal damage to the smaller group of attackers.

“Brute offense and defense,” Steve said when Natasha asked him what his attack style was.

Thus, Steve was tasked to lead the initial breach. “Think of it as one of your missions to prove yourself,” Tony had said, handing him a Stark 0978.

The Stark armory was, like everything else, was impressive and robust, with every large-caliber weapon imaginable filling every inch of the walls. Shelves that stretched to the low-hanging ceilings stocked the grenades, knives, and pistols.

“We also have eccentric weapons too,” Tony commented when Steve looked overwhelmed by the sheer number of weapons stacked in the place.

“I can’t believe this,” Steve replied. “You never cease to amaze me. It’s like an FB…I mean, a cop’s wet dream.”

Tony picked up one of the double-edged knives and handed it to Steve before picking one of his own and tucking it into his wrist holster. He chuckled. “It sure is, isn’t it? And you were saying? Something about the FBI?”

Steve grimaced slightly, and he knew Tony caught his micro expression even though he tried to hide it as best as he could. “I’ve been to the FBI headquarters once or twice while on active duty. Their armory was never as robust as this,” Steve lied quickly. Steve waved his hand at the sheer number of the weapons.

Tony stared at him. “Okay,” he said easily. His tone suggested that he was skeptical of the explanation. Steve bit his lip when Tony turned away. He fucked up, and so soon after going undercover. Fury was right, he wasn’t in the right mind for undercover work. But he had no choice. It was either live knowing that Bucky died for a mission that would have ultimately be marked off as a loss, or die on the job.

And Steve would rather die on the mission than continue living half a life without Bucky. Thus, he had to be more careful until he finished it, because he still had a duty to the People, even if his focus to finish was for Bucky’s sake.

“You done with everything?” Tony asked, tucking the last gun at the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

Steve looked down at the contraption in his hand. It looked like a large wristwatch with metal bands, but instead of a watch face, the circular face was encased completely in metal. “Almost?” Steve held up the not-quite watch to Tony in question.

“Ah, another prototype,” Tony replied, taking the watch from Steve. He fitted the watchband around his right wrist, and as Steve watched, Tony took his left hand and stroked the watch face from one end to another. And as he dragged his finger, the metal expanded in a circular fashion until a wide circular disc was formed.

Tony grinned, holding the shield out in a defensive position. “Come on, shoot it. I know you want to.”

“You sure?” Steve asked, even as he reached for his side pistol. Tony wriggled the shield in front of him, enticing Steve to release a couple bullets at the shield, and he was delighted when the bullets ricocheted off the shield with loud clangs.

The shield was completely unscratched.

“That’s amazing!” Steve gushed. “Did you make this?”

Tony grinned and contracted the shield back into its watch form again. “I did, but it’s not marketable. Everyone else wants the better guns and the more impact-resistant Kevlar, so this is just the one, more of an idea rather than an actual weapon. But it’s one of my favorite prototypes, and you seem to love it.” He handed the watch back to Steve. “Here. Consider it as my gift to you.”

“But how about you?” Steve asked, even as he reached for it reverently, admiring it even in its innocent state.

“I have other toys that will protect me,” Tony replied.

Steve placed the watch onto his wrist. He breathed, “Thank you.”

Steve was tempted to do something rash as the adrenaline and excitement rushed through his body. Something like kiss Tony because his work was amazing. He settled for looking at Tony instead, hoping that his eyes conveyed the admiration that he felt of Tony’s work. “Thank you,” he said again.

Tony flapped his hand carelessly, glancing up once at him before looking away and busying himself with rearranging the weapons on the table beside him and missing the admiration that was conveyed.

“Guys,” Natasha said, and Steve took a step back instinctively, putting distance between himself and Tony. He blushed when he realized that he was originally positioned very close to Tony, leaving nearly no breathing room between them. Natasha looked amused as she looked at him from the doorway, but she didn’t both mentioning it. “You ready for the hunt?”

“Yep, yep,” Tony said quickly, walking towards her. Steve followed. _Bucky would have loved him_ , Steve thought, looking at the back of Tony’s head. _Handsome, brilliant, caring._

And even if he had just met him, Steve could feel himself falling in love with the mafia man. It was a dangerous type of love, but the fire was stoked, growing uncontrollable in the pits of his stomach. Perhaps Bucky did see what he saw now, but there was no way of knowing for sure. Nonetheless, perhaps Steve could persuade Tony to become a turncoat, turn away from the mafia life and become one of the good guys.

It may be a tall order, since Steve didn’t know exactly who Tony was, and he wasn’t sure if Tony knew his own background.

Steve took one last look at his watch and hoped. Hope that he could wrap this mission that Bucky started, Steve reminded himself, and hope that he could identify the good people in the Famiglia so that they wouldn’t get lost in the justice system.

It was just ten of them breaching the Vanko stronghold. In the darkest hour before dawn, Natasha drove the black SUV that carried one half of their team; Pepper drove the one.

“Alright guys,” Tony said to them. “You know this drill. Ideally, we want to start off with Plan B, the Kamikaze drill. Steve, front and center breach. Natasha, around the back, quick and quiet take out from the top of the warehouse. Pepper, you two, support Natasha. The rest of us, we’re supporting Steve. Leave one alive. We’re sending a message to Vanko.”

Everyone assented.

“They’ll be expecting us,” Tony said, pulling out his laptop and typing rapidly, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Be on guard–“

The car jerked slightly as bullets hit the car, pinging off the sides like rain splattering against the pavement.  “Well, that was unexpected!” Tony said brightly. “Nat! Change of plans, we’re going with Plan H.”

“What’s Plan H?” Steve asked.

Tony grinned at him. “We’re going for full-frontal assault.”

Steve gripped the edge of his seat as the car accelerated rapidly, continuing to draw fire from unseen opponents. “They knew we were coming!” Steve said.

Tony frowned. “That shouldn’t be possible,” Tony retorted. “We didn’t tell that many people that we _were_ doing this mission.”

“But look, they’re hitting us even before we reached our destination. It’s like they were waiting for us.”

The car shook as it took a particularly large it, rising off from the ground for a moment before gravity took hold and brought it back down harshly.

“Fuck!” Tony yelled. “Is that a bazooka?”

“Shields at seventy-five percent,” a voice announced from the front of the car in response to Tony’s comment. “Recommendation, extreme retaliation.”

“JARVIS–“ Tony began to say, just as a second shockwave hit the car and sent the unmoving vehicle back.

“Shields at fifty percent.”

“Target the weapon, J!” Tony said. “Natasha! Clear the path for Pepper!”

“On it!” Natasha said. With a snap of her leg, she opened the door, lobbing something blindly out during the precious milliseconds the door flew open. Tony did the same from the passenger seat. Just as the door clicked shut again, a massive “boom” reverberated, the massive shockwave of whatever she tossed outside shaking the car.

Yet another large missile hit the car. The windshield cracked under the pressure, creating an intricate spiderweb in the what was surely reinforced glass. The one good thing about this whole situation was that the smaller bullets were not peppering the car doors.

“Shields at twenty percent.”

“Get out of the car!” Tony yelled. “Pepper, what’s your status?”

“Going around, but there seems to be only one holding that bazooka. You want me to take care of it?” Pepper reported over the comms.

Steve nearly tumbled out of the vehicle as the car took yet another hit. “No!” he heard Tony say from the other side of the car. “Finish the mission! We’ll hold him here.”

“We’re fucking sitting ducks in the middle of the street!” Tony yelled. “Take cover!”

Steve managed to duck into an alleyway just as the car blew up in the middle of the street. He cringed. This would definitely get the attention of the cops, and he could do nothing about it, not with his non-status and all. He could already hear the police sirens coming ever closer, much closer than he would like. And with the magnitude of the battle, the FBI was certain to be on scene as well.

“Clear the scene!” Tony yelled over the comms at the same time as Steve came to the realization that he had to leave unseen and unscathed. “Get to the warehouse. Mission takes priority!”

 Steve ran, away from the scene and towards the final location. He had to prove himself, he knew. There was no running away from the situation at hand. He was essentially blind. Even though he was born and bred New York, he was unfamiliar with the area. “I don’t know where I am,” Steve panted back through the comms, just as he could hear Tony curse back and grunt.

Someone touched his wrist, and Steve jerked instinctively, elbowing towards the direction of the arm, but he was blocked by another hand. “Chill, soldier,” Natasha said, withdrawing her touch. She jerked her head. “Come on. We’ve got a mission to finish.”

“How about Tony?” Steve asked. He tapped at his ear to signify the pained growls and grunts through the comms.

“He can take care of himself,” Natasha said. “He’s got tricks up his sleeve. But Pepper needs all the help she can get if we want to stop the Vankos once and for all.”

Somehow Natasha, in the span of fleeing the scene to the rendezvous with Steve, managed to procure a bike.

“I hope you didn’t steal this from somebody,” Steve said, even as he sat behind Natasha.

Natasha side-eyed him and smirked. “And what if I did? Hold on tight, soldier.”

With only five soldiers in Pepper’s group, they were definitely overwhelmed by Vanko’s people when Natasha and Steve pulled up to join the fight. The car had been abandoned in the middle of corpses, and the team were involved in a firefight, pinned down in the middle of open ground.

“Status, Pepper?” Natasha asked.

“We’re holding ground, but they’re too many of them. Tony was right: they were expecting us, especially after last time we hit them. They’ve quadrupled their security, and we’ve trimmed them down to half before you came in.”

“Alright,” Natasha replied, turning abruptly in a sharp turn, skidding sideways. While Steve gripped the sides of his seats with his legs for dear life, he expanded the shield and swung his arm out to knock a soldier out of their way, and with a surge of adrenaline, snapped the metal bands that held the shield in place at his wrist. Steve threw the shield like a frisbee, the velocity sending it forward and hitting yet another soldier gunning for them. Expectedly, as soon as the disc hit, it went down with the soldier, spinning like a top. Natasha shot back at a third and fourth soldier.

“How many do we have left?” Steve asked. Natasha brought the bike past his downed shield, and he reached to the side to snatch it up.

“Five…three, one,” Pepper said, her aim coldly precise and calculated as she fired at the remaining enemies.

Natasha finally slowed the bike down to a stop. In the aftermath of the firefight, the resulting silence was eerie, and the bodies of their enemies were all down, some unconscious, some dead.

Pepper sighed heavily. “That was a lot louder than I expected. They just couldn’t help but draw attention to themselves, could they? Idiots.” She kicked one of the unconscious bodies distastefully. “Come on, we’ve got a lot of work to do, and the cops will be here soon. Again.”

The warehouse door was conveniently left open, so the team walked into the room, where shipping crates were stacked upon each other, stretching nearly up to the tall ceiling. Natasha went for the closest crate, shooting off the lock and lifting the latch to reveal ten women…no, teenagers, laying on the floor of the crates, asleep.

“Drugged,” Pepper corrected Steve’s unspoken thought, kneeling down to touch one of the girls on the shoulder.

“They’re sending more this time!” one of the other men said on the other side of the room. He had opened another shipping crate to reveal more girls, all drugged. And if Vanko was as despicable as the others had described, Steve suspected that every single one stacked on top of the two they just opened were filled with girls, ready to be shipped overseas, away from comfort and straight into hell and slavery.

“Fuck. We don’t have enough manpower to take all of them,” Pepper said, brushing the girl’s hair back gently.

“Honeybear is on his way with his team to run interference,” the comms crackled as Tony’s voice finally came through. Steve could note a tinge of exhaustion leaking into his voice, even though Steve suspected that he took great pains to mask his tiredness as much as possible. “Take the most malnourished ones you see and leave. I can’t hold the cops back any longer.”

Pepper stood up, carrying one of the girls in her arms. Pepper stretched her arms out and gave Steve a look that had him automatically curling his arms under the girl’s unconscious body. “Take her. She’s the sickliest of the bunch.”

Steve looked down at the emaciated and innocent face. There was a stark contrast between the innocent child he held in his hands, experiencing the cruelty of the world too young, and that exact cruelty of weapons stashed on his body. But the feeling of overwhelming protectiveness surged up deep within his soul, in the same place as the pang of loss Bucky’s death was stored.

This…this must be why Bucky stayed underground so long. The Starks still had a soul within their bloodshed, caring for the vulnerable and fighting for justice even in the pits of evil. He saw a need to help, and Steve was coming to the realization that not all of humanity was lost through their work. Certainly, it was more vigilante than actual government-sanctioned operations, but at the same time, they had the means to use speed to attack where it was needed most.

“Steve!” Pepper’s voice broke him out of his trance. “Come on! The cops are almost here!”

“How about the others?” Steve asked, looking back at the remaining girls still laying still on the floor of the shipping crates.

“The cops will take care of them,” Pepper replied, even as she carried a girl of her own in her arms. In fact, every one of the team held a young girl. “We have moles within the precinct and Child Protective Services who will take care of them. We need to leave though.”

They fled on foot, making sure they kept to the shadows. Steve, as he ran with the precious bundle close to his body, was reminded of his military ops with the speed and grace they moved on foot, not unlike the way he led his squadron across the desert in Afghanistan.

“This way,” Natasha said, crossing from one alleyway to the next, sticking herself always behind the darkness of the night. The rest of them followed.

Dawn was just breaking when they finally broke into the back door of a building. It took several steps into it before Steve recognized it as Pepper’s bar, its glamorous front view glowing in the distance. Pepper and Natasha led them towards another section of the building, one Steve hadn’t been to before.

Tony met them just as they approached a closed door. He was a complete mess: his combat clothes were in complete disarray, torn in several places and revealing strips of bloody flesh underneath. His face was mottled in bruises, and with the way Tony was hunched slightly over, Steve was sure that Tony had at least a cracked rib.

“Tony!” Pepper gasped, reaching a hand out. Tony smiled grimly.

“It’s nothing, Pepper. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Got my new tech to save me, but the repulsor technology did me just as much harm as the other guy.”

“Your hand…it’s burned.”

Tony brushed her concern off, taking a step forward instead to see the kid held in Steve’s arm. “Occupational hazard, Pep. Nothing I can’t handle. Now, look at this cute kid. Can’t believe that Vanko had the galls to kidnap her and put her into slavery.” Tony looked up at Steve, even as he brushed her black curly hair back. “His organization has been doing reprehensible things, but the Code had always prevented us from coming after him directly.”

“But you’ve been working on stopping his business,” Steve pointed out.

“Yea,” Tony acknowledged. “But we never had a chance to go after them directly because he still followed the Code to a certain extent. It wasn’t until he decided that he was good enough to go after the kids did he break the Code, which allows us to actually go after him now.”

“But why go after him? Why not wait for FBI or the cops to arrest him and put him through the system?”

Tony’s lips curled up in distaste. “Steve, you know as well as anyone that the FBI and law enforcement are tied to the slow and bureaucratic system. It’s inefficient to say the least. By the time you’re able to gather the green light from Capitol Hill, the Vankos could easily send girls, twice, thrice, out of the country before you can even blink. The Mafia, on the other hand, keep each other in check. It’s why we follow the Code, so that when one steps out of bounds, the rest of the Families get to put out the fire.”

“Besides,” Pepper continued, “The mafia could do damage inside and outside prison. Nothing can stop us, you know. We are our own judge, jury, and executioner so that they no longer have the opportunity to hurt anyone else.”

By this time, the group had moved into what seemed to be a makeshift hospital with several cots lined up in one long row, looking not unlike the hospital on the warfront. However, the lighting was better, and the beds looked actually comfortable. Towards the end of the room stood an unassuming man with his back turned to them, bowed over a microscope.

“Brucie-bear!” Tony called out cheerfully. “Got more kids for you.”

The man turned around when he heard his name, and he pushed his glasses up. “Tony, again?” he sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. “I told you I’m not that type of doctor.”

“Uh huh,” Tony replied. “And yet you still take care of them and nurse them back to health.” Tony took the kid from Steve’s arms and laid her unconscious body gently on the bed.

“Vankos again?” ‘Brucie-bear’ asked. “They never feed them properly.”

“And now they don’t have to,” Natasha growled. “We’re taking them out.”

Bruce looked unsurprised. “They broke the Code.”

Tony nodded. “Complete annihilation until they can’t rebuild.”

“Good. That’s good.” The man looked down at the kid before looking directly at Steve. He stretched his hand out. “Dr. Banner.”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve replied, shaking Dr. Banner’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Brucie-bear here is our resident doctor,” Tony said, clapping Dr. Banner on the back and ignoring the ‘Not that type of doctor, Tony.’ “He takes care of us when he’s not doing science-y things and loses himself in the fumes of the chemicals he works with.”

“Someone has to take care of your idiocy because you can’t take care of yourself,” Dr. Banner grumpily said. “Speaking of which, you better put your ass down in one of the beds too.”

“They’re just minor wounds, nothing I can’t take care of,” Tony retorted. He was going to say more, but in the far distance, a door slammed loudly enough that it startled the group.

“Tony!”

Tony’s head snapped to the side, face turning into dismay. “Shit,” he said. He looked past Steve’s shoulder, prompting Steve to turn his body to look at the approach of Obadiah Stane walking towards them, his bald head glinting under the bright white lights and his mouth turned down in a frown.

“Obi,” Tony sighed, stepping around Steve to face the _don_ of the Starks.

“Tony,” Obi repeated. “I’ve tried contacting you twelve times within the past sixteen hours, but you didn’t answer any of my calls. What’s going on now? Think your little missions to save the world is more important than your due to the Family?”

“Obi, you know that I’ve been working overtime to get your project done,” Tony replied. “These missions are done during my spare time, and you know that. I’ve logged in more hours to get your contracts finished, and they will be done by the time you go meet your clients.”

“Really now,” Obi said. Although Obi’s face did not change, and his tone was light, there was a cutting edge to his words. “Well, I was calling to tell you that the clients moved the meeting up a week, and I’m hoping the project to be finished in two days.”

Steve watched as Tony, normally so confident and composed, seemed to wilt ever so slightly under Obi’s cruel gaze, and there was a certain tension in the air so palpable that it was hard to breathe. Steve was glad that the children were still unconscious so they wouldn’t have to feel this.

“Fine,” Tony finally said. “You’ll get it tomorrow. It won’t be as good as I want it to be…”

“But whatever you make will be good enough for them, Tony. They wouldn’t know better. You know that,” Obi replied. “Anyway, that’s not the only thing I came to see you about. I heard that you happened to pick up a stray.”

Obi was looking straight at Steve, catching his eyes within his own. This close, Steve could see the pinprick of his pupils looking straight into his soul, calculating the best way to kill him and dump his body where no one could find him. The beard did nothing to hide the hollows of his cheek, and even though Stane was smiling at him, it was a cold smile. His demeanor was the epitome of what the FBI deigned a mafia man, and Steve held Obi’s gaze fearlessly because this was what he came for, to bring down the Family from the inside out, and he wasn’t afraid of his enemy.

“Yeah,” Tony replied, although it sounded as if he was in the distance. “This is Steve. Steve, this is Obadiah Stane, our boss.”

“Steve, you’ve got a last name?” Obi asked as he reached out his hand.

Steve raised his hand to grasp Obi’s own. When they drew away, the echoes of Obi’s forceful handshake still lingered on his palm. Steve said, “Grant. Last name’s Grant.”

“I heard about the way you saved Peter and Harley the other day. That was good work,” Obi replied. “I like the fact that you’re ex-military. You know, I also knew someone who was ex-military, was part of the 107th. Name was James. James Barnes. You don’t happen to know him, do you?”

It took all of what Steve had to keep his face blank, hearing Obi sneer at Bucky’s name. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of his name, no,” Steve replied.

“Didn’t think so. Army’s big, but let me warn you. Even though I like you, I don’t trust you guys. Even ex-military, you guys have some loyalty to Uncle Sam. You see, I thought Barnes was the perfect guy for the Family because he was ex-military and ex-FBI, but he betrayed them because he loved killing a little too much.”

It was Bucky’s cover story. Steve stood there as Obi rehashed the details of the file Steve had read two years ago. “He made the perfect _consigliere_ you know, because he knew everything. But I found out recently that he never betrayed Uncle Sam; he betrayed _us_ because he was an undercover cop.”

In one blink to the next, Obi suddenly was in Steve’s space. Surprised, Steve jerked back instinctively before he could hold his ground. “I don’t trust you, Steve Grant. I don’t trust you that you won’t betray the Family.”

“Obi, leave him alone,” Tony interjected. “I hired him because I put Happy on babysitting duty, and I needed Steve to protect Pepper.”

“I could have gotten Rumlow to protect Pepper,” Obi replied, still looking at Steve. It was unnerving, the vitriol leaking out of Obi.

“And Pepper hates Brock. She likes Steve,” Tony said.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t just take Steve out into the alley and pop a bullet right into his skull. His timing is too convenient, especially just after we caught Barnes.”

Tony stepped into Steve’s personal space as well, but he brushed against Steve’s should in silent support before facing Obi. “First of all, Steve helped us when the Vankos took Peter and Harley, and he’s a good soldier for us. He hasn’t done anything yet that goes against the Code to deserve death. And you won’t go against the Code just because of your distrust. Second, Steve’s my responsibility, not yours. He’s only been doing lowly grunt work, and he doesn’t know much about the Business, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Obi finally took a step away from Steve. “See that you watch your back, Tony. I don’t trust him, and you shouldn’t too. Steve, hurt this Family, and you’ll see what I can do to make your life hell, so much so that death is the kinder option.”

“Noted,” Steve said.

The _don_ of the Famiglia turned his back to the group. “Get yourself checked out, Tony. You look like a mess, and you need to be on your top form.”

“Alright.”

Obi was gone, striding out casually, but in the dangerous way that those who knew him would think twice to cross him.

It was several moments of staring at the closed door before the tension fizzled out and Tony turned around. “Well, that was that,” Tony said brightly, almost too bright. Steve could see the way Tony was trying to mask his feeling of unsettlement. “That was Obi, always trying to take care of the well-being of the Family.”

Behind Steve was someone clearing their throat. Tony continued, “Thank you Pepper.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she replied.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer’s still no.”

“And the answer will be permanently no if you don’t get your ass down on this bed so that I can clear you from Medical,” Bruce said. “Sit down Tony. You need all the strength you can get if you’re going to clean the Vankos from the street.”

Tony sighed heavily, prompting Steve to speak up. “Dr. Banner’s right. The quicker you get it done, the quicker you can get back to work,” he said gently.

He finally nodded, moving past Steve to gingerly sit on the bed. “Because you asked Steve. Don’t blame me if I drive you nuts, Bruce.”

“You make my life a living hell already, you sitting here won’t change that.” Even as Bruce said that, he had a genuine smile on his face, not at all meaning his words.

Tony simply scoffed. “Steve, you’re dismissed,” Tony said, looking up from his position. “We’re going to regroup the Family so that we can wage war on the Vankos once and for all.”

-

Steve’s been here before, several times in fact - in a room full of soldiers, decked out tactical gear, ready for battle. The amount of soldiers milling around could easily rival the New York FBI office, field agents and SWAT team combined. Steve sized them up, looking at the battle-hardened faces of both women and men ready to follow orders.

This time, they were in a warehouse, so that everyone could fit. Steve, coming to understand the Starks more, was not surprised that the design of the warehouse exceeded expectations, and it was technologically advanced, to say the least. In this building, the A.I. named J.A.R.V.I.S. controlled every aspect of the place, and Tony had commanded it to provide for the needs of the people, which it did so immediately.

Tony himself was dressed in gear, but instead of the classic black, his vest and pants were blood red with dull gold lining the edges of his several pockets. His helmet, too, was red, although the visor flap glowed blue with light. Pepper stood a step behind Tony, over his right shoulder. She was dressed similarly to Tony, although her outfit lined with grey. Her gold helmet was tucked under her arm, and her face was stony as she looked out at the soldiers before her. Natasha stood at Tony’s left shoulder, hands clasped behind her back. While she had the classic black gear on, her outfit looked much more lightweight than what Steve was wearing. It was clear hers was designed for speed and recon.

“Alright, we’re waging war against the Vankos, and we’re cleaning house,” Tony said to the group. “Unit C, you’re with Natasha in Brooklyn. Unit B, you’re with Pepper and sweeping for stragglers in Manhattan. Unit A, you’re with me. We’re going to attack their home base in Queens. That’s where the highest concentration of Vankos are.”

Up in front, Tony looked every bit a leader, strong, confident, composed. He was a man that Steve was sure every man and woman here would lay down their life for his. Steve caught Tony’s eye as he looked out into the crowd, focusing his gaze on everyone of them. “ _Famiglia per sempre_ ,” he said, tone heavy.

“ _Famiglia per sempre_ ,” the crowd echoed.

-

Steve’s ride to Queens was filled with terse silence as he sat with seven other men and women headed towards the Vankos stronghold. Without Tony’s easy companionship, this period of waiting flooded his system with adrenaline instead. He passively stared the other soldier in front of him, and the man stared back, eyes glittering with coldness. They sized each other up, but Steve knew that he didn’t trust the man in front of him to have his six. The body language, the slight upward tilt of his head, the protruded chest, all led to one who would stab a knife to his back instead.

Steve was thankful when the van careened around a corner and came to a screeching stop. As soon as Steve finished jerking back into the soldier beside him, he leapt to his feet, his automatic Stark gun prepped and ready to go.

The rest of the vans spat out soldiers, and they marched down the street before breaking off, some marching around the back, and the others to the front towards a small barbershop. The door was so small they had to enter one by one, with Tony leading the way. However, even if they haven’t yet breached the stronghold, already blood had been drawn. By the time Steve managed to walk into the store, the barber was slumped gruesomely over his chair, arms extended over his head with scissors still snug between his fingers. Dark red blood leaked out from a bullet wound, staining the seat and spilling onto the floor, drip by drip.

Within the secret warehouse stationed behind a hidden door, the battle was already well underway. Steve ducked instinctively, providing himself some semblance of a cover and making himself less of a target for targeted and stray bullets, although he was learning the protective material that he wore was much, much stronger than Kelvar and were a good defense to the bullets that came his way.

Steve ducked behind a stack of crates, and ever so slightly tilted his body to see Tony behind another set of boxes at his ten o’clock.

“Stark!” a voice thundered out over the sounds of the flying bullets and the whines of something electric. _Repulsor technology_ , Steve’s mind filed him in, remembering the interesting device and contraption Tony showed him. But then his mind processed the information. There was a Stark here. “Come out and face me like a man.”

“Ceasefire, Unit A,” Tony’s voice said over the comms. Slowly but surely the firing died down, the dust of lingering bullet fragments swirling in the air. Tony, Anthony _Stark_ , got out from behind his hiding place and walked towards the lone man waiting for him at the center of the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. um. My hand slipped, and the story’s definitely getting away from me (like…I didn’t plan on having Tony be revealed until the next chapter, and not so explosive of a way. Wow). So I have no idea how long this story is going to be which is probably a good and bad thing. Good thing because you’ll have one long story, one way longer than I’ve anticipated and written before. Bad because I’m going to need a lot of encouragement to get to the end. Therefore, comments, thoughts, predictions are all welcome ^.^ Cheers.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](https://la-toratempesta.tumblr.com/) :)


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